At Plaza Saltillo

She stood at the back of the plaza listening to the words being thrown out to the audience. She liked what they said -- or so she thought at the time. She liked the speaker's energy -- or so she thought at the time. She thought he sounded sincere -- at the time, that is.

She stood at the back, because she had arrived late, and the plaza was already full. So she had to strain a bit to see. And she had to jostle a bit to keep the stage in view as more people arrived.

It was a big crowd, more than the organizers had hoped for. There were people standing at the side of the stage, people climbing on the railings, people trying to push their way to the front.

It was a big crowd, and a loud one. When he spoke his impassioned words, they cheered. When his face turned red and he pointed to the crowd, they cheered. And she smiled as the cheering filled the night air. She could vote for him, she thought.

But for all the cheering and passion, for all the energy and sincerity, as she reflected later on that night, she wasn't so sure after all.

Too much money grubbing, she thought.

Why is it that it always boils down to money? she complained.

This guy's no different from the others. So intentional. Ultimately so predictable.

Whatever, she thought as she rolled her eyes and wrote the rally off in her mind and drove to the mall to buy a CD.

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Fiction vaguely based on an online musing about the Howard Dean rally in East Austin on 09 June 2003.

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